


I Hear My Heart Breaking Tonight

by Morpheus626



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: Going off of a lil mini essay thing from my Tumblr about a question about a character I like writing for, I wrote this for/about Eggsy.It’s kinda messy, but I wanted it to be very…mental flow, like being in his head as much as possible, if that makes sense. Hopefully I achieved that!Title is a lyric from Pink In The Night by Mitski.
Kudos: 1





	I Hear My Heart Breaking Tonight

He doesn’t tell Tilde he’s going back for a bit; he doesn’t really have to. She knows the job, and doesn’t question if he’s just gone for a day or two. He always checks back in with her, to give her an update, let her know that he’s safe. 

But Kingsman hasn’t called him back to England. No one has, in fact. 

No one living, at least. 

And he can’t really blame it on his dad, or Merlin, or Roxy, or even sweet JB. They couldn’t actually call him back there, of course. It’s just where they all sit, all the losses stacking up, balanced ever so carefully so he doesn’t think of them at an inconvenient time. 

But they always topple when he least expects it, is least ready to deal with it, and there’s no easy way to stack them up again. 

Walking helps, though he couldn’t say exactly why. He doesn’t have a destination, doesn’t stop for more than a moment or two here and there, and that it always seems to rain weirdly makes it even better. 

He can feel the tears sitting at the edge of his eyes, but can’t get them to fall no matter how hard he tries or how alone he is, so the rain is close enough. 

He could call someone. He could tell Tilde. He could call Harry. He technically could call his mum, though they talk only briefly nowadays. Mostly updates on Daisy, and to speak to her and see how she was. 

But the last time he’d tried, speaking to Tilde about it all, she’d listened but…

It just hadn’t worked. She’d offered kind platitudes, and apologized for him losing who he had, and said it wasn’t fair, and he appreciated it all, and that she sat and let him talk. But she seemed distracted for most of it, bothered, uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to make her feel like that, or Harry, or his mum. 

The sidewalk doesn’t give a shit though, and the streets are either quiet and busy inside or loud and thrumming with people he has to weave around, either way with no time for him and the thoughts making his head hurt with how fast they whip around inside.

He makes a tour for himself: first to the Kingsman shop, to stop there and talk to Merlin and Roxy. Late at night, there’s usually no one around, and no one to question his standing there silent, the words all spilling out in his head. 

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’ll never stop being sorry, either. It isn’t the same without you two, and I know what Harry says and what you guys would say-we carry on, make sure the world is safe, and then we mourn. Well, I did that, and I’ve mourned, and I don’t think I can stop it now, because it never gets any easier. You should still be here, both of you. Missions aren’t the same, and they never will be again. And it’ll never stop bothering me, always the first thought when I’m told there’s somewhere to go, someone or something to save. You were a safety net for me, and I should have been the same for you, somehow.” 

It isn’t a great apology, but then again, the best one would be if he could bring them back. 

And as he walks on, all he can think about is how he can’t. 

JB he talks to on the way back to his Mum’s old flat. 

JB is easier, and yet not, somehow. He can tell him in his head what a good dog he was, how much he was loved, how sorry he is, but JB would never have understood it all fully, or why he died. And that hurts just as much as JB being gone, because if JB had any last thoughts, it would have been that he was hurt, and he didn’t know what he had done to deserve it, and wasn’t he a good dog? He tried so hard to be a good dog, so why did he have to hurt? 

He hopes, prays (to who? he isn’t sure), that JB died quickly, with no time for pain or thoughts like that. 

The apartment he always gets close, can almost feel the tears falling, but something holds them back as he asks his dad everything he can think of.

“Did you really plan for it to be like that, knowing you might die like that? For Mum to feel so alone, and unsure? Of course, she could have reached out to Kingsman like Harry said, but she was grieving, not thinking rationally. Surely you had to know that might be how she’d react. Or did you never even think of it, never even consider what it might be like after you were gone? Nobody wants to think of their own death, but I’ve got an idea, if I go doing something for Kingsman. Tilde will be taken care of, not just financially or whatever, not that we were really anyway. But emotionally, to make sure she doesn’t fall to pieces when I’m gone. And Mum. For her, that’s the least I can do, since you apparently didn’t.” 

The anger tastes bitter in his mouth as he walks away again, and he almost regrets it, because it isn’t pure anger, he knows that. It’s tinged in his own grief for the father he can’t really remember, not in a way he can cling to when he needs it. And it isn’t fair to his father, or to him. Not healthy to hang onto like that. 

But then none of this is. 

He’ll ponder it as he finds a hotel room for the night, calls Tilde once he’s in the room to let her know he’ll be home in another day or two, and how is she? What did she do today? He’d love to hear it, and he hopes it was a good day. 

Then it’ll be just him and his thoughts of how he ought to think about getting a therapist maybe, instead of just hoping one of these night long run away and walks will somehow cure him when the hurt gets so sharp it feels it might slice him to ribbons, leaving him breathless and sobbing in a hotel room that he pays too much for just so he doesn’t have to go home right away and risk Tilde or anyone else seeing the ice of his lake finally break. 

In the later morning, the lake has frozen over again, and he washes his face with cold water before checking out to get on a plane and go home. 

Everything stacked and orderly again, stiff upper lip. 

And no one is ever the wiser, and he can be there for them, smiling and helpful and caring and loving, just like they need. 


End file.
